


The Archerons

by noodlecatposts



Series: Noisy Neighbors AU [6]
Category: A Court of Thorns and Roses Series - Sarah J. Maas
Genre: A Noisy Neighbors Spin-Off, Alternate Universe - Celebrity, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Anxiety, Cheating, Mutual Pining, Panic Attacks, Pining, Previously Called Starfall, more to come - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-08-16
Updated: 2020-10-10
Packaged: 2021-03-06 00:54:01
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 9,667
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25934713
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/noodlecatposts/pseuds/noodlecatposts
Summary: Velaris is a cruel and beautiful place, they say. Born and raised in that same very city, Feyre’s never heard a more accurate statement in her life.
Relationships: Feyre Archeron & Rhysand, Feyre Archeron/Rhysand, More to come
Series: Noisy Neighbors AU [6]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1734661
Comments: 17
Kudos: 99





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> So, I made the decision to take a different approach to Starfall (the Feysand, NN, Spin-Off). I’m renaming it the Archerons to better fit the story/feel of it, and we’re starting at the very, very beginning—casting.  
> You do not need to read Noisy Neighbors (a Rowaelin fic) in order to read/understand The Archerons; however, I anticipate that this will contain spoilers for NN. I’ll mark those chapters when they come.  
> 

##  **FEYRE LETHE-ARCHERON PASSES AWAY AT 36.**

> _Velaris’s very own, Feyre Lethe passed away this past Thursday following severe injuries from a car crash Wednesday evening. Authorities have provided little information regarding the circumstances of the accident; however, sources suggest that the cause may have been alcohol-related…_

⭑

“Number 15!”

Feyre’s chair rattles as she lurches in her seat, startled by the sound of the woman’s voice. She blushes from head to toe in shame, sparing a quick glance in the direction of the unimpressed figure in the doorway; Feyre looks away just as quickly, frightened by the stern expression the woman aims her way.

There’s no reason for Feyre to double-check her number, glancing quickly at the paper pinned to the front of her best blouse, but she does. After all, Feyre’s been chanting _fifteen, fifteen, fifteen_ in time with her racing heart for the last hour. And fifteen always comes after fourteen.

It’s silly how her heart threatens to beat its way right out of her chest. Feyre can’t ever imagine her mother or sisters ever panicking this way before an audition, but Feyre is considered the black sheep of the family for a reason. 

“Fif-teen…” The woman calls coldly, breaking apart the syllables. She arches a cruel brow Feyre’s way. There isn’t anyone else waiting in this barren hallway; Feyre’s the very last of the callback auditions. 

Feyre raises her hand, then cringes. That was so dumb. 

“Here?” she asks rather than declares. Another grimace. Gods, how is she so bad at basic human interaction?

Feyre is too embarrassed to feel any real offense when the lady snorts at her. Besides, Feyre can’t imagine that anything good will come out of Feyre catching an attitude with the assistant; there’s no way she doesn’t work for some Velaris-type who’s pastime is destroy nobodies like Feyre. 

There’s no invitation for Feyre to follow the woman as she turns on one expensive heel and struts away. Feyre can’t resist taking a good look at her character shoes; they’ve definitely seen better days. Yet, she thinks that with Elain’s help, she can probably get a few more auditions out of them.

Feyre squares her shoulders and chases after the assistant. She tells herself she has a really good shot at this one; after all, they liked her enough to bring her back to the second round, right?

##  **FEYRE LETHE-ARCHERON LEAVES BEHIND HUSBAND AND 3 DAUGHTERS.**

She enters a room full of hushed whispering. Feyre’s ears instinctively strain to hear what it is that they’re saying. It was only a matter of minutes ago that the actress before Feyre burst through the doors, tears streaming down her face, and ran away in shame.

It’s intrusive, but Feyre is dying to know what it is they said to the other woman. She hopes it’ll prepare her for whatever cruelty is about to come out of their mouths now. 

“Fey—” A sharp-nosed woman stops mid breath, frowning at the paper in her hands. She looks to Feyre incredulously. “Feyre? _Seriously_?”

The room snickers, especially Ms. Unimpressed from the hall. Feyre has to bite the inside of her cheek to keep from humiliating herself, and she prays to the Mother above that the blush flooding her face is invisible behind the little bit of makeup she bothered with today. 

It’s odd that it would take them until the second round of auditions to notice her name, note the familiarity of it. Nobody commented on it before, and by now, her resume has passed through a dozen hands. Perhaps, it’s that this cruel woman grinning at her is the only one mean enough to point it out. 

“Ah!” A stunning man claps his hands excitedly, claiming the empty seat at the middle of the table. He beams in Feyre’s direction, and the look is so warm and friendly that Feyre easily returns it. “Someone’s mother was a Feyre Lethe fan, huh?”

Feyre’s mind goes completely blank under the weight of Helion Day’s attention. To say he was a really big fucking deal in Velaris would be an understatement. Openly bisexual, disastrously attractive, unfairly talented, Helion defied all the odds as a man of color to become one of the most noteworthy directors of all time. And Feyre’s standing in the same room as him.

She snaps her mouth shut and blushes some more. Helion’s eyes crinkle in a kind, amused way as he waits for her to recover. Feyre stammers, “T-that’s—She’s my mother.”

For a long moment, no one says anything. Feyre curses at herself inside her mind, telling herself she’s an idiot for saying something like that to all of these people. This conversation only has two outcomes now: 

Outcome One: Disbelief.

“Well, you certainly picked the wrong family to impersonate, Feyre.” The sharp-nosed woman leans forward in her chair, setting down Feyre’s resume and eyeing her critically. When her brow furrows like that, it does very little for her appearance. “Lethe’s daughters are already established in this business, and neither of them is named Feyre.”

Old, familiar anger rushes through Feyre’s veins. Of course, she’s forgotten all about Feyre Lethe’s third, youngest daughter. The one born a little more insecure than the others, and conveniently, the one Lethe named after herself. A little moment of vanity wasted; she should’ve made Nesta her namesake.

“Lethe had three daughters if I’m remembering correctly,” Helion muses. “If I remember correctly, she made quite a stir by hiding her last pregnancy while filming that one film where everyone dies of typhus.”

Feyre blinks at him surprised. “My father was afraid of what the paparazzi might do to her, finding out she was pregnant then,” she says, not knowing why she does it. “They were stalking my family everywhere. They photographed Nesta—”

“Yeah, yeah.” Feyre’s eyes fall to a man she hasn’t noticed before. It’s round with a mouselike face that’s easily forgettable. “I wouldn’t be so quick to claim James Archeron as your father, little girl. It might night have the result that you’re looking for.”

Ah, there it is. Outcome Two: Drag Feyre’s Father Through the Mud.

Another voice says, “Maybe, you should try telling us something you can’t read about online.”

Feyre fumes, but she forces the smile to remain on her face. It’s easy to think of the many things that she could say now to defend her case, things that none of the people in this room would be able to verify besides her—the mental breakdown that finally released Elain from their mother’s high expectations; the little two-bed apartment that their father is wasting away in; the glass of bourbon that Nesta starts her day with, failing to see the irony; the time Feyre couldn’t learn her lines, so her mother called her useless. 

The Archerons Family Secrets, Feyre called them.

“Right, of course,” Feyre says sweetly, hating how she doesn’t put up a fight. She wonders if pulling out her driver’s license would help to prove her identity, but even that seems a little extreme.

“I always wondered what happened to you,” Helion says, breaking the silence. He leans forward in his chair and rests his strong forearms on the table; his eyes are alight with excitement. “Where on earth have you been hiding?”

Feyre thinks fast, struggling to find the answer that he’s looking for. She doesn’t have it. “Um. A diner. Off Main.”

Helion grins. “How delightful.”

##  **FANS ACROSS VELARIS MOURN THE DEATH OF FEYRE LETHE-ARCHERON.**

Feyre is thrilled when they ask her to proceed with the cold reading. It’s a good sign, she thinks. By some small mercy, Helion seems to believe her claim to fame. After admitting her mother’s identity, Feyre anticipated getting kicked out, being told to never show her face again.

She’s proud to find her hands steady as she accepts the foreign script from the man who called her a liar and put down her father. Feyre sends him a sweet smile, squashing down her nerves and negative thoughts. Reading a brand new script with no context or time to prepare, for the first time, is so not Feyre’s idea of a good time. Though, it’s a necessary evil.

Feyre takes in a deep breath, holding it for a three count. Then begins.

“What are you doing here?” Feyre asks no one, crossing one arm over her chest to represent the discomfort the character is feeling, as indicated in the script. Cauldron, how she hates reading a scene with two characters alone. 

“I came to see how you were doing.” Sharp Nose is a horrible actor. She reads the next line flatly, giving Feyre very little energy to bounce off of. “About as well as I expected, I see.”

“You aren’t supposed to be here,” Feyre hisses pointedly. She’s not sure why the other character isn’t invited exactly because there’s no explanation in the script, but she plays along. 

> **NORA (clearly agitated)**
> 
> You aren’t supposed to be here.
> 
> You know that right?
> 
> **_THEO opens his mouth to speak, but NORA stops him with one look. THEO deflates._ **
> 
> **NORA**
> 
> There’s a reason you didn’t get an invitation—

“There’s a reason you didn’t get an invitation,” Feyre hisses. She searches for something to say next. The hyphen in the script indicates that her partner is supposed to interrupt her, but Sharp Nose hasn’t done so. “I didn’t want—“

“Don’t marry him,” a male voice interrupts. 

It’s deep and smooth like honey, but his panic shocks Feyre into stopping her rambling—exactly like he’s supposed to. She sucks in a breath, confused. No one said anything about a scene partner.

“W-what?” Feyre stutters as she looks over her shoulder, confused by her partner’s request. 

She better understands the secrecy surrounding this new pilot now. Rhysand Knight stares at her with his crazed, beautiful blue eyes. They’re nearly purple, she thinks, noticing the sparkle in them as he delivers his next line.

“You heard me,” he challenges. Rhysand takes one step towards her, and Feyre takes one back. It seems like the right thing to do in the moment. His lips twitch with approval. 

“Don’t marry him,” he pleads, his voice low and trembling with emotion. It’s insane how his tone makes Feyre’s heart squeeze as if this were a real conversation. Rhysand is a reputable actor; though, his skills are often overshadowed by his personal life. 

“Darling,” he adds the name just after a beat. Rhysand’s fingers reach out for her face to brush her cheeks, and Feyre recoils just before he touches her, narrowing her eyes at him.

“ _Don’t call me that_ ,” she hisses.

Rhysand responds with his own line. They continue to bounce off of one another like they’ve rehearsed this scene together a thousand times. Feyre notices at one point that Rhysand doesn’t hold a script in his hands. She wonders if it’s because of the fact that he’s already done this particular scene with fourteen other actresses or if it’s because he’s a nervous over preparer—like her. 

There’s a faraway part of her brain that observes the room, notes the tension in the space, and the way that no one breathes as they perform. Feyre is quickly running out of pages to read from, and suddenly, she’s following the blocking directions and striking Rhysand across the face. Except Feyre is too short in stature to reach him, so she chucks the script at him, and Rhysand nearly breaks character in surprise. 

“Let go!” She snarls when Rhysand catches her by the shoulders, slowly moving in.

“I will always love you,” he swears whisper-quiet. Feyre realizes with a jolt what’s about to happen, not needing a piece of paper to piece the context clues together. He’s about to kiss Feyre. 

_Rhysand Fucking Knight is about to kiss her._

Feyre’s blood pounds in her ears in anticipated; although, she isn’t sure if she wants to kiss this notorious man. She’s barely met him, but Feyre knows that backing out right now will definitely cost her the part. She tries not to break character. 

One second they’re fighting, and the next Rhysand’s lips hover just over her own. Feyre holds eye contact, eyes flickering between those violet eyes and full lips, playing the part and waiting for his next move. She’s kicking herself for tossing her script.

His smile is serpentine. Feyre supposes he enjoys this more than necessary, a ladies man like Rhysand Knight. She narrows her eyes at him. And then:

“I’m not going to kiss her without asking first,” Rhysand declares, shifting his weight to his heels and putting distance between them. “She already threw her script at me. Who knows what she’ll do if I kiss her without her explicit permission?”

Feyre refills her lungs with a sharp breath, and she hopes it’s not too obvious. It must be, though, because the actor sends her a clever smile. He pockets his hands casually, clearly unbothered by having been moments from kissing her.

“Always the gentleman,” Helion says remorsefully. He tilts his head like a predator, assessing them before adding, “I see you’re fashionably late—as always.”

Rhysand picks an invisible piece of lint off of his nondescript black shirt, stretched just tightly enough across his shoulders to make an impression. “I do love a good entrance,” he replies, winking at Feyre. She blushes inexplicably. “Besides, you _do_ always save the best for last.”

“Because you’re always _late_ ,” Helion replies. Feyre’s heart skips a beat at their conversation. Do they mean her? Did Helion have her on his top list of picks? Could she actually get this part?

“You didn’t have a script,” Feyre blurts. Her flush grows.

Her scene partner smiles. “I have an excellent memory. Besides, reading from a script makes me nervous.”

“Cheater,” she says before she can think better of it. She pales, afraid to piss them off, but Rhysand breaks out in a burst of surprised laughter. Helion looks pleased as he watches them.

“Thank you, Feyre Archeron,” Sharp Nose tells her, interrupting their banter. It’s a clear dismissal. “We’ll call.”

Feyre manages to thank the room; Rhysand Knight bows at her. Actor types. She snorts at his peculiar behavior, and he beams at her, clearly feeling quite impressed with himself.

When she leaves the room, Feyre feels as if she’s floating on air. That was easily the best cold reading she’s ever had. Usually the “we’ll call” line leaves Feyre broken and disappointed, but for once, she thinks that maybe, just maybe, they really will call.

##  **FEYRE LETHE-ARCHERON PASSES AWAY IN FATAL CAR CRASH, LEAVES BEHIND HUSBAND & 3 DAUGHTERS.**


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The much overdue Chapter 2! Sorry for the wait, but I just couldn’t stop fussing with this one.

##  **JAMES ARCHERON DENIES DRINKING ALLEGATIONS, BLAMES PAPARAZZI FOR WIFE’S DEATH.**

> _The husband of the late Feyre Lethe-Archeron has spoken out at last about the accident responsible for claiming the life of Velaris’s most-beloved actress. James Archeron broke his silence to deny the rumors swirling that claim the cause of the accident to be alcohol related._

> _The mother of three passed away in a vehicular accident last Sunday on what many were calling the night of Lethe’s career. Mere hours before her death, Feyre Lethe-Archeron received the Actor of the Decade Award. Little did she know the tragic turn her evening would take..._

⭑

Feyre is pretending that she knows how to cook when the phone rings. The call is surprising; people don’t really call Feyre unless they’re trying to get something out of her. The ringtone leads her to the living room where she digs her phone out of her humble couch cushions and checks the caller ID. It’s an unknown number.

She answers. “Feyre speaking.”

“Hello Feyre!” an unfamiliar voice speaks, female based upon the pitch. Feyre tries desperately to keep her hopes from rising, but she knows that it’s too late for that. The second she saw the unknown number, complete with the familiar Velaris area code, Feyre began to hope.

They don’t call the people who don’t get the part.

“Hey,” Feyre says, as awkward as ever.

“This is Val,” the woman tells her in a tone that implies Feyre should know exactly who Val is. She searches her memory for ever having been introduced to a _Val_ , but Feyre comes up short. She has no idea who this woman is. Nobody ever bothers to introduce themselves during auditions. There’s no telling when, if ever, the two’s paths have crossed.

“Oh, hey… Val.” Feyre feels relief that there’s nobody there to witness her grimace. She’s at home with no one but her shadow to judge her utter lack of grace. Feyre’s an actor for crying out loud. She should be better at this.

“It’s so great to talk to you again!” Val blatantly lies. Though, Feyre can hardly hear her over the sound of her thundering pulse. “And, well, I’m just going to cut to the chase because time is money.”

Feyre nods along, flinching when she recalls that Val can’t see her during a phone call. She hums a noise of agreement instead of talking; she’d probably just say something ridiculous anyway.

“Helion was _so_ impressed with your audition.” Time comes to a standstill, and Feyre knows whatever this Val is about to say will make or break her already wounded heart. “He’d like to offer you the role of Nora.” A pointed pause. “Would that be of interest to you? Still?”

Feyre thinks of eyes so blue that they’re nearly purple as she says, “Yes. Yes, I would be.”

Cauldron, she hopes that she doesn’t sound overly eager. That would certainly ruin any bargaining power that she may have—assuming Feyre has any to begin with.

“Excellent.” Val’s voice is sickly sweet. Feyre doubts that anyone ever tells Val no when she offers them a role. It’s like handing out money to the poor, food to the starving. “I normally would just go through your agent for this part of things; however, I didn’t see their contact on your resume. An error, I presume?”

Feyre stands up straight. Both women know that the information wasn’t left off by mistake; Feyre doesn’t have an agent, is what it means. The actress racks her brain for the many times she’s listened in on Nesta and Elain, eavesdropping while they talk shop. She always pretended not to be interested if only because she didn’t know how to be included. But she was so, so interested.

“Yes,” Feyre lies quickly. She knows that she’ll pay for this fib later, somehow, but Feyre also knows that she’ll be taken advantage of without an agent to guide her through negotiations. She doesn’t know what to ask for, what to turn down; hell, she doesn’t know how much she should get paid. Feyre decides it's better to ask forgiveness than permission. So, she lies.

“What’s your email address, Val? I’ll forward you the information.” Feyre cringes, finding herself thankful once again that she lives alone.

Feyre scribbles down the information, ignoring the panic that rises in her heart and the sweat breaking out on her back. Fuck. Why has Feyre never gotten an actual agent? How has she managed to overlook that? Considering who her family is, it’s embarrassing.

She manages to only thank the woman a thousand times before letting Val go. The line goes dead, and Feyre stands there in her kitchen, staring at a photo of her mother. Feyre stumbled upon it in the family attic before the house finally sold. It’s old, faded, and a little torn, but it’s her—Feyre’s mom.

The great Feyre Lethe.

“I got the part,” Feyre whispers to no one, fingertips brushing the edge of the photograph pinned to her fridge. It hasn’t really hit her yet; it still doesn’t feel like it could be real. Feyre smiles to herself. “I got the part.”

##  **JAMES ARCHERON, A FAILURE. THE DIRECTOR’S LATEST FILM TANKS AT THE BOX OFFICE.**

Feyre finds Elain where she always finds her sister, half-buried in her flowerbeds and tending to her plants. Feyre’s lips twitch at the sight of the middle Archeron sister, kneeling in the dirt; there aren’t a lot of people in this city that still take care of their own flowers. The media would go into a frenzy for a chance to snap a photo of their favorite child star, Elain Archeron, covered in all manners of dirt and grime, dressed in her floral apron.

She waits for Elain to notice her until it becomes apparent that her sister has no idea that Feyre is there. “You know you left your front door open, right?”

She startles her sister, and Elain jumps out of the bushes, staring in shock at her sister. Feyre chokes on a laugh.

Elain clutches her heart with one dirty hand. “ _Feyre Archeron_ , you nearly killed me.”

“That’s kind of the point I was making,” Feyre tells her around a sly smile. “Anyone could just waltz right in and knock you over the head.”

Her beautiful sister pouts. “You know, you’re not as funny as you think you are.”

“You keep saying that,” Feyre remarks. She hands over the tea she’s brought along for Elain. Her sister looks surprised by the little gesture, but she happily accepts the beverage from Feyre, despite the blistering heat of the day. It’s been a rather hot summer for Velaris this year. “And yet, you keep laughing.”

Elain rolls her eyes, smiling fondly, but Feyre doesn’t miss the curiosity shining in her sister’s brown eyes. Feyre and Elain aren’t exactly close; although, Feyre would say that she’s definitely closer to the middle sister than she is with Nesta. The oldest Archeron sibling was... distant at best.

“So, little sister,” Elain coos, jumping straight to the point. It’s a habit they’ve all acquired growing up in this hellish city. No one walks around the truth here. Like Val said, time is money. “What brings you to my humble abode?”

Feyre quirks a brow at that. Elain’s home isn’t exactly modest, but it’s nowhere near the lavish lifestyle she could afford if she wanted to. Her blue eyes scan the intricate garden—cultivated solely by Elain and not a gardener— and the outdoor kitchen. The interior is just as nice; Feyre knows from experience..

“Um,” Feyre says, feeling hesitant. She bites her lip and pretends not to notice Elain’s scrutiny. No one ever gives Elain the credit she deserves; she’s a thousand things more than the pretty, simple girl the media portrays her as.

Elain sighs, a hand on one hip. “Feyre.”

The youngest Archeron groans. She hates the blush spreading up her neck and stares at her toes. As hoped, her hair creates a curtain around her and blocks her face from view.

“I got a role,” she mumbles, feeling impossibly small.

Elain gasps. “You what?”

Feyre takes a moment to gather her courage. She swallows back the nerves, daring to meet her sister’s brown eyes. Elain has already been—as she so affectionately refers to it now in her adult years— _chewed up and spit out_ by the entertainment industry. Her sister recounts the misery of her child years rarely, but anyone can do a google search and find out what really happened. Read about the ugly truth of it for themselves.

With that in mind, they both know that Elain didn’t want this life for Feyre. Elain always wished for Feyre to go back to school, use her trust fund to get an education, and do _anything_ else. Preferably somewhere far away from Velaris. She’s going to be so disappointed in Feyre.

“I was just offered a role—in a pilot,” Feyre adds quickly, always talking her successes down out of habit. “It’s no big deal, really, but if the show were to get picked up for a while season… I did it, Elain. I got a part.”

Elain remains silent for a time. Feyre waits, watching the wheels turn behind her sister’s eyes. Suddenly, Elain’s smile lights up her whole face, and she clasps her hands.

“That’s so great, Feyre!” her sister says. “I’m happy for you.”

Elain’s approval means more to Feyre than she expected it would. She has to bite the inside of her cheek to keep the relieved tears at bay, but Elain notices.

“Come one,” Feyre’s sister says, her tone full of encouragement. “Help me pull these weeds, and you can tell me all of the details.”

“That’s not really my idea of a good time, El,” Feyre retorts, but at the sight of Elain’s challenging expression, she grabs the spare apron from where Elain keeps all of her gardening supplies.

“Well,” Elain says, her voice haughty and a smile playing at her full lips. “I suppose that’s what you get for scaring me, Feyre Archeron.”

The sisters sit in the dirt and chat amicably about Feyre’s new show. She conveniently leaves out the negotiation struggles, carefully dodging the topic by telling Elain that it’s still early in the process. When the topic of the lead actor comes up, Elain looks surprised and a bit impressed.

“Rhysand Knight, huh?” her sister says slyly. “I wouldn’t be too worried about the show getting the green light.” Elain tugs a weed out of the garden bed and dumps it into her bucket. “I would, however, be careful.”

“He didn’t seem that bad,” Feyre says in response, feeling the inexplicable need to defend the stranger. She remembers how he decided not to kiss her without permission and flushes at the memory; Elain misreads the blush and frowns deeply.

“Rhysand Knight does _not_ have a good track record with his co-stars,” Elain says pointedly. “And he’s never the one that suffers for it.” Feyre grimaces at the look her sister sends her way. “You don’t have the rapport to survive a dating scandal, Feyre. Be careful.”

“I’m not—who said anything about dating Rhysand?” Feyre protests. Elain gasps, shooting her sister a scandalized expression, and Feyre backpedals. “I didn’t mean it like that, either! Cauldron, Elain!” 

They’re both silent for a moment, neither knowing what to say to the other. It’s weird for Feyre to experience this mothering side from Elain; she rarely ever finds herself on the receiving end of her sisters’ maternal instincts. Not that Feyre’s ever seen Nesta be motherly.

“Hey,” Feyre says, noticing something odd. “Where’s Grayson? I didn’t see his car out front.”

Elain’s expression shutters. “Work,” she tells Feyre flatly, leaving little room for further conversation.

##  **IS JAMES ARCHERON ON HIS WAY OUT? RUMORS SUGGEST THAT THE DIRECTOR IS STRUGGLING TO FIND WORK.**

Feyre is on her way to work when the phone rings again. It seems a little funny to be on the cusp of this potentially life changing moment while clocking in for her split shift at the diner. If Feyre is anything, she’s practical, and pilots don’t often get picked up—even those starred by the one and only Rhysand Knight.

The Caller ID on her phone gives her pause, and Feyre makes her excuses to her coworkers, slipping out the back door to answer. They’re used to it by now; many of them are aspiring actors themselves. Most of them, however, don’t have a famous mother. And sister. Two sisters.

Sometimes Feyre wonders how she ended up serving burnt coffee in a diner.

“Hello?” she asks, though she recognizes the number. It would seem that it was time for Feyre to beg forgiveness.

Alis wastes very little time, getting right to the point. “I received a rather interesting email yesterday.”

“Oh?” Feyre responds, choosing to feign innocence. Her pulse spikes at the sound of the other woman’s voice; it’s been a very long time since Feyre last spoke to Alis. Too long, she realizes remorsefully.

“Yes, a _Valerie Thorne_ wanted to negotiate with me for my client, Feyre Archeron.” There’s a beat of silence. “Which is odd. Because I don’t recall having a client by that name.”

“Alis—“

“I do, however,” the agent continues, speaking right over Feyre’s would-be apology, “have a ghastly former college roommate that is known to go by that name.”

“I—“

“But I haven’t spoken to that girl since she decided to drop out.” Alis ignores Feyre’s many attempts to speak. “She wanted to become an actor like her mother or some nonsense. I forget.”

“I was going to call,” Feyre says quickly before Alis can continue her rant. A smile plays at her lips as she waits.

“She was kind of weird, too. I doubt she’d ever get a job in this city.”Alis pushes. Feyre knows that now she’s just speaking for the sake of making Feyre suffer. “Anyway, there’s no way that could be the same Feyre. Right?”

“It’s nice to speak to you, too,” Feyre tells Alis with a fond smile. “I’ve missed that attitude of yours.”

“I see you’re still a mess,” Alis accuses, but Feyre can hear the smile in her voice.

Feyre sighs in response. “I didn’t think they’d move so quickly—honestly,” she confesses. In truth, Feyre thought that she might still be in shock, in denial about everything that was happening around her. To her. “I promise I was going to call you after I got off of work.”

“Work?” Alis cries. “You’re going to work?”

Confusion makes Feyre frown at nothing. “Yeah. I’ve got to pay my rent somehow.”

“Honey,” Alis says in a tone that makes Feyre feel inexplicably foolish. “You should go give your resignation. You’re not going to need to wait tables for a long time. Maybe never again.”

“I got cast in a pilot,” Feyre says flatly. A little, dangerous part of her heart begins to hope. “I’m not a movie star, Alis. I can’t put all my eggs in one basket.”

“Feyre,” the agent speaks like she would to a child. “Quit your job. We’re about to have the money to buy as many eggs as we want.”

“But I don’t like eggs,” Feyre says and Alis laughs brightly, as if it’s the funniest thing she’s ever heard.

“Then buy yourself some coffee,” she says. “You’re still into coffee, right? The point is, quit your job and come see me tomorrow morning. I’m about to make a lot of money off of you, Feyre Archeron.”

##  **JAMES ARCHERON LOSES BIG DEAL WITH HYBERN PRODUCTIONS.**

“So, just how blind have you robbed me?” Feyre asks in greeting to Alis. The other woman smiles widely enough that it crinkles her brown, upturned eyes, and suddenly, Feyre is hit once more with sadness.

She dropped out of college because it was the right thing for her to do. Feyre didn’t need to go into debt to pursue an acting career, especially not in Velaris where one could trip and fall on a production. It was the right call; Feyre knows that. Yet, Feyre also feels as if she’s missed out on something crucial—carefree college years and Alis as a roommate. At least, it’s all seemed to pay off in the end.

“You’re the one who gave all the bargaining power to me, Feyre Archeron,” Alis tells her coyly. “Besides, I totally saved your butt. I deserve a little extra.”

“But what about the eggs?” Feyre says. Alis’s grin only grows. The agent rustles through a pile of folders on her desk; the office Feyre’s arrived at is beautiful, the kind of place an agent would only ever dream of being able to afford. Even shitty rent isn’t cheap in this city. Alis has done very well for herself at a mere 26.

The agent slides a folder across the desk to Feyre, folded backwards to leave a particular page of the contract on top. There’s a few passages highlighted in various shades of neon, but the one with the red circle around it catches Feyre’s eye first.

“Holy—”

“I know, right?” Alis says quickly, sounding like the twenty-something girl she is and not the ferocious talent agent that she also is.

“That’s… a lot.” Feyre struggles to grasp the reality of the situation. She stares at the page for a beat, then Alis, and then the page again; she expects the numbers to change, for her to realize that her mind tricked her and added a few too many zeros, but it didn’t. There aren’t.

“But—why?”

Alis sighs. “It’s not obvious?”

Feyre thinks on the vague answer for a long time. When it hits her, her heart falls with disappointment. This was why she always avoided telling anyone about her family. “Because I’m an Archeron.”

“Technically, because you’re a Lethe,” Alis corrects unhelpfully. “I don’t know why you’ve waited so long to play that particular card. The industry _loves_ that family of yours. Even Elain and her—Huh. What’s Elain doing these days?”

“Gardening.” Feyre thinks of how she found her sister the other day, kneeling in the dirt and singing some song by a band Feyre’s never heard of before, female-led and utterly unlike anything she expected Elain to listen to.

“And singing The Cohorts,” Feyre adds.

Alis’s eyes shine with amusement. “The Cadre?” she corrects, and Feyre shrugs. “Man, now _that_ girl is going places. I would kill to be her agent.”

Feyre wrinkles her nose. “The Cohorts is a girl?”

Alis makes an exasperated noise, falling into her seat and observing Feyre closely. “You need to get out more, girl.”

The actress doesn’t have anything to say to that. It’s true. Feyre is something of a homebody if she’s not got work or an audition; she definitely doesn’t indulge very often, usually in favor of saving money. While Feyre receives money from the Lethe Trust, it’s uses are limited, and Feyre has a tendency to spend it on her father whenever she can bend the rules.

Still, Alis must notice Feyre’s disappointment. The agent looks a little concerned before hurrying to rectify her earlier comments. “That wasn’t the only reason they cast you, though. Promise.”

Feyre doesn’t say anything in response. She arches one brow in question, urging Alis to go on.

The talent agent sighs. “So you’re one of those actors that needs reassurement, huh?” Feyre nods without shame, and Alis rolls her eyes. “Well, they’ve upgraded Nora to a regular; the role wasn’t going to be in more than a handful of episodes originally. It gave me a shit ton of bargaining power—that they’ve decided to rewrite the script for you.”

“Why?” Feyre asks incredulously.

Alis already looks exhausted. “Because _someone_ has fantastic chemistry with Rhysand Knight. It inspired them to make some changes. You hear that, Feyre? You’re _inspiring_.”

“I think I hate you,” Feyre retorts, but she’s floored. She didn’t realize the part she would be accepting would be so _big_. It fills her with nerves and excitement and a little bit of fear. A lot for her heart to handle all at once.

“You love me,” Alis says with a genuine smile. The expression falls flat quickly. “But we need to talk about the star of the show...”

Feyre already knows where this is going, and she’s already sick of it. She sighs, rubbing her temples as she tells Alis, “I have zero plans to fuck Rhysand Knight.”

“Well. That’s disappointing,” Alis tells her wryly. Feyre is surprised by that. “He’s so _hot._ Like—“ The talent agent fans herself dramatically. “Put your fingers in my mouth. Please. And. Thank you!”

Feyre knows that her face has turned a startling shade of red. She may or may not have had similar thoughts about her soon to be cast mate, but she was never going to act on it. Or voice it aloud. Or to herself. Alis must sense this. The talent agent aims a devilish grin her way.

“I could totally spin whatever bullshit he decides to pull on you in your favor,” Alis says, becoming the business woman who earned this fancy office overlooking the Sidra. “So… if the opportunity presents itself, I say go for it— if you’re into it, of course. That’s important.”

“I—“ Feyre stutters. “I’m not—“

Alis waves away her protests; the woman sitting before Feyre is just as fast paced as the rest of this city. “I was just saying. Anyway! On to the real problem.”

“Problem?” Feyre asks. Her smile turns sharp. “Isn’t that on you to fix, _agent_?”

Alis’s answering smile is just as sharp. Feyre will need to keep her wits about her with this one. “I am many things, Feyre Archeron, but I am sorry to say that I am not a mover. Nor a real estate agent. And thank the Mother for that.”

##  **JAMES ARCHERON SELLS HOME TO PAY SUBSTANTIAL DEBTS.**

⭑


	3. Chapter 3

##  **NESTA ARCHERON MAKES HER RETURN TO THE BIG SCREEN IN A STUNNING, NEW DRAMA,** _ **LADY BIRD**_ **.**

> _That’s right! You heard it here first, folks. The one and only Nesta Archeron is making her long-awaited return to Velaris in a new film produced by Under the Mountain Productions. It’s been years since we last saw Feyre Lethe’s daughter grace the big screen; for those, who don’t remember, the last time we saw her, Nesta was hanging off the arm of Producer Tomas Mandrake—and we all know how that played out._

> _After her fallout with the media, Nesta Archeron all but disappeared from the limelight. Many speculated about whether or not the A-list actor would ever return to the public eye; imagine their surprise when Nesta reappeared, armed with a degree and a somber role in the theatre of all things!_

> _It bears mentioning that Nesta Archeron’s modern portrayal of Hedda Gabler is one of The Rainbow’s most critically-acclaimed performances to date…_

⭑

It’s a struggle not to panic as Alis explains to Feyre that she needs to relocate. The production company plans to shoot on location whenever possible, and they’ve set up a location for studio work, too. 

Oh, how Feyre’s heart begins to race as her agent tells her to be in Adriata by the end of the following week. It gives her just less than two weeks to pack up her life and move to another city. Feyre will need an apartment; she needs to pack, terminate her lease. There’s so much to do.

It’s terrifying. It’s thrilling.

Adriata. Feyre can just barely remember her childhood trips to the seaside city— family vacations in the sun, filled with melted ice cream cones and intricate sandcastles. She knows from photos that the city is an elegant one, set along the western ocean. Feyre hasn’t been there during her adult life, not after everything fell apart.

Her mother always loved Adriata. Feyre Lethe always made a show of packing up her kids and husband to fly off to the beaches during the summer months. She’d make her team black out the weeks for her vacation in her schedule, and because of who she was—the great Feyre Lethe—they’d do it. The production companies wait.

Nesta and Elain never wanted to go back after their mother died, not once they were finally old enough to do so themselves. Feyre suspects that their reasons for not going were similar to their father’s. The memories were darkened now, ruined by the sheer grief that reared its head whenever their mother was brought up.

This will be Feyre’s first time in Adriata since childhood. She wonders if it’ll live up to all of her rosy memories.

##  **A COLLEGE GRADUATE! HOW NESTA ARCHERON DISAPPEARED FROM VELARIS AND RETURNED WITH HER MFA.**

Feyre quits her job as Alis ordered. Her fellow waitresses all give her forced smiles; she recognizes the look, having worn it before. They think she’s crazy and foolish, that there’s no way this job of hers won’t fall through; Feyre is getting ahead of herself, they think—and they could be right.

But Feyre isn’t going to let that stop her.

As expected, Nesta doesn’t answer the phone when she calls, and Feyre doesn’t leave a voicemail either. It’s unlikely that her eldest sister will return the call anyway, and she has other things to do besides leaving her distant sibling a stammering voicemail about her new television show.

Feyre resigns herself to sending an email to Nesta’s agent; it’s always proved to be the best way to get in touch with the oldest Archeron sister. They’ll pass the word along, probably use it to their client’s advantage, too. Nesta and the media don’t get along on an exceedingly good day, unlike Elain. Nesta could probably use the positive, if roundabout, press.

James Archeron is up to his usual nonsense when Feyre visits with him for her weekly check-in. Her father is drunk, again, and writing, again, but Feyre doubts that any of the words he’s stringing together make any real sense. She used to read his scripts for him, nodding and smiling through the incoherent plotlines. But since moving out, James hasn’t shown her anything new. She thinks it’s his way of expressing his displeasure with her.

“Oh?” he says when Feyre tells him the news. “That’s lovely, dear.”

That’s it. No questions. No congratulations. Nothing more than a passing acknowledgment. At least it means that he was listening, Feyre supposes, though she doubts her father actually heard what she said.

“So, I’ll be going out of town for a while,” Feyre informs him. Her father nods absently, waving her away when she leans in to kiss his cheek. “Just call me if you need anything.”

“Sure, sure,” Mr. Archeron says. The typing of a keyboard fills the rest of the conversation. Feyre wonders what sort of project he’s created for himself. James Archeron hasn’t sold a script in years, and there aren’t any producers paying him to write them one.

Feyre quietly excuses herself after a reasonable amount of time. She feels horribly guilty for looking for an escape, but watching her father struggle like that this too hard sometimes. Elain and Nesta don’t visit him often enough. Most of the time, James Archeron is all alone.

She tries not to worry about her father as she leaves the apartment. Feyre has her own life to live; she can’t spend all of her time fussing over the father that refuses to help himself. 

And still… Feyre makes a not to give Elain a call to guilt her into visiting him more. Even just a little bit.

##  **NESTA ARCHERON DAZZLES ON THE RED CARPET.**

Sometime in between shoving all of her belongings into a storage unit and giving up her apartment, Feyre attends the very first table reading for _Starfall_. She spends an excessive amount of time trying to pick out something nice to wear; it’s not as easy as she hoped, though. 

Feyre’s never really cared for clothes in regards to fashion; she’s always been more inclined to dress for comfort. She picks out her most admirable blue top and a pair of leggings and hopes for the best.

The whole experience seems so surreal, especially as Feyre waits at the bus station and takes public transit over to the side of town the studio is at. Someone is going to wake Feyre up any minute now, and she'll be so, so disappointed.

But then, Feyre walks into the buzzing conference room with movie posters on the walls, crashes face-first into Rhysand Knight, and it all becomes real. A little too real.

“Why hello there, Feyre.” The actor’s smile is as charming as ever. Feyre hates how she blushes furiously under his gaze, from the tips of her toes and into her hairline. Cauldron, who gave this man the right to look like _that_?

Rhysand is dressed devastatingly casual for the day’s events—a pair of dark wash jeans and yet another black t-shirt, stretched tightly across his shoulders to show off just how the man became so popular with Prythian’s viewers. It’s a good color on him, Feyre thinks for some reason. Not a lot of people can pull off the color black.

“H-hey,” Feyre stammers, and she decides that she hates herself. Rhysand looks all too pleased with himself for knocking her off balance; he smiles so wide that his eyes crinkle.

He goes in for the kill. “Funny _running_ into you.”

Feyre recovers instantly, forgetting about how her name sounds when Rhysand Knight of all people says it. He says it like it’s something interesting, like something worth his time. Feyre shoots her costar the most menacing glare that she can manage; it only causes Rhysand’s amusement to grow.

“Huh.” He leans into her space, smiling. “You’re rather cute when you’re flustered,” Rhysand observes without shame, drinking in her expression like a fine painting. “You get all blotchy and _mean_ —I like it.”

Not trusting her voice, Feyre scoffs loudly at him. He laughs as she shoulders her way past him, purposefully ignoring the flex of muscle as she digs her shoulder into his chest. Cauldron, the nerve of that guy, Feyre thinks. He’s so… rude. Inappropriate.

Rhysand’s laugh chases after her as she hurries for the conference table. Suddenly, it all feels like the first day of school; Feyre remembers well the scary feeling of finding a lunch seat and not seeing a friendly face. After a very public fall from grace, the Archerons weren’t terribly popular in school.

She chooses the least threatening smile she can find and hurries to claim the seat beside them. From across the table, she catches sight of Rhysand’s entertained expression as his eyes flicker between Feyre and her new friend. Then someone calls his name, and Rhysand soon forgets about teasing Feyre.

“I see you’ve met Rhysand,” her neighbor says with thinly veiled exasperation. Feyre raises an eyebrow at his tone, and the man smiles warmly. “I promise that he's not always so… impossible.”

A laugh breaks out of Feyre, bright and happy. The man’s sea-blue eyes sparkle, pleased to have received such a reaction. They both watch as Rhysand works the room, charming the pants off of everyone in his vicinity. There’s no way he’s actually that charismatic. It can’t be possible.

Feyre bites down on her smile. “That’s one word for him, I guess.”

“He’s— _Rhysand Knight,_ ” the man says with a shrug. Although his eyes shine with amusement. “That’s the best description that anyone’s come up with as of yet.”

“How clever,” she observes. It earns her another smile.

“I’m Tarquin,” he says a little shyly. It makes Feyre like him immediately.

“Feyre.” She credits Tarquin’s humble demeanor for her ability to shake his hand without having a meltdown. _Tarquin Summers._

New to the television world himself, Tarquin has had a few decent roles here and there, but Feyre recognizes his name for a different reason. She definitely didn’t know him by his face, not immediately. Tarquin comes from a Velaris Legacy, too. Just like Feyre.

The actor turns to see her better, says, “ Is this your first big role?”

“Yeah,” Feyre admits, her voice growing quiet. She’s struck with shame for it, despite knowing that everyone, everywhere, has to have the _first role_. Hell, even Rhysand Knight has a first role—back when his face was rounder and his hair floppier.

Tarquin seems to understand. “I bet your family is proud.”

She hesitates to agree with him. Not because it isn’t true, which it isn’t, but because Feyre isn’t used to talking with others about her family. They’ve always been an off-limit topic in her life. Though, Feyre is sure she doesn’t want to tell him the truth of the matter, that the Archerons hardly care or recognize the weight of the occasion for her.

Helion Day saves her.

“Hello, everyone,” the man says seriously. Gone is the sensual, humorous director that drooled over Feyre and Rhys as they auditioned; the difference is shocking to Feyre. She wonders what’s happened to make him so sour.

“Right.” He huffs a breath. “First things first: some housekeeping.” Helion meets Rhysand’s eye for a long, silent conversation that causes the actor to stand straighter. Feyre gets the impression that something terrible has transpired.

Helion flashes a charming smile that doesn’t meet his eyes. “I would like all of you to give a big welcome to the director of our pilot episode!”

Heads turns and eyebrows arc. Feyre’s forehead wrinkles in confusion; she thought that Helion Day would be the show’s director. Isn’t that how it worked? Tarquin notices her confusion and leans into her space.

“They promoted Helion to showrunner,” Tarquin explains in a whisper. “Not that anyone can tell with the way the guy is behaving. You’d think they fired him or something.”

“Allow me to introduce Tamlin Spring!” Helion says in a deceptively, polite voice. Though Feyre notes the showrunner’s body language, his shoulders’ stiff set and the tension hidden within his smile.

Even Rhysand looks affected, that annoying smile of his falls off his face, and the room pauses with anticipation.

“Ah,” Tarquin says, leaning back in his chair. “That makes more sense.”

Tamlin Springs appears made of gold with his rich blonde hair and summer tanned skin. The man practically materializes at Helion’s side, suggesting that he was waiting for the right moment to make his entrance. He shoots everyone a warm smile.

Feyre’s first thought is that he’s incredibly handsome, which is just silly and off-topic. She decides to blame it on her current lack of a dating life.

“Good morning, everyone!” Tamlin’s smile is perfect and bright and warm. He addresses the room, eyes traveling around the place to look at everyone. They snag on Feyre, who blushes for no apparent reason and looks away quickly.

He recovers. “I’m very excited to work on this project with all of you!” Tamlin Springs looks towards Helion; the showrunner smiles despite his foul mood. “I look forward to getting to know all of you.”

Tamlin’s eyes drift back towards Feyre, and she offers him a tentative smile. The moment is cut short by Rhysand as the actor lets out a cruel scoff. All eyes drift towards their star, but Rhysand just smiles, unbothered by the attention or being an ass in public.

“I’m sure it will be a real pleasure,” Rhysand says coldly. Feyre is struck by the difference in him. Despite his reputation, this is nothing like the cheeky flirt that greeted her. “What a fabulous development. I’m thrilled.”

“Rhys,” Helion breathes his name in a warning. It’s barely audible.

The tension is palpable in the room. Tamlin’s green eyes turn on Rhysand; the actor pockets his hands with indifference, looking away from the director and ending the confrontation before it even begins. Feyre is struck with curiosity, glancing between the three men. There’s definitely history there, but Feyre doesn’t know what it could be. Perhaps, she needed to start paying more attention to the celebrity drama that Velaris is so well-known for.

“Well, this is certainly a promising start,” Tarquin sighs under his breath. Feyre cracks a smile at the other actor; he’s not wrong.

“Anyway,” Tamlin says, dismissing the actor. Feyre beings to wonder if she should take this as a warning sign of what was to come. The director and the lead of the show don’t get along; it’s certainly not promising.

“Let’s hear it for our showrunner!” Tamlin changes the topic with skill. The room breaks into applause for Helion. “I’m sure _Starfall_ will be Number One in no time with Helion at the helm.”

Feyre claps eagerly for the man that gave her this shot. Helion is the first person to decide to take a chance on her, even if Feyre is pretty sure it’s because he wants to see her make out with Rhysand. And because of who her family is.

It doesn’t matter, though. She’s determined to make the most of it. Feyre will prove herself worthy of this role regardless of who her mother was, who her sisters are, and she’ll make everyone proud.

Rightly so, Helion takes a moment to drink in the applause. He laughs when the clapping refuses to stop. “Okay, okay. I think my ego has had enough inflating. Let’s get to work, shall we?”

Once the room begins to quiet, Helion jumps into action, breaking down the concept and the storyline he has in mind for _Starfall._ The cast is provided a little bit of background on the characters with promises for more in time.

Feyre listens with all of her attention. However, as Helion brings up the most critical part of the show—Feyre and Rhysand’s love story—her eyes drift towards the man in question. Rhysand is already looking her way, smiling at her like the troublemaker he is.

Feyre scowls at him. Rhysand Knight is impossible.

And then it’s time for the read-through. Helion smiles as people gasp at the right parts and frown in all of the right places. Feyre finds herself dragged into the story , too, waiting to know what comes next. If it were a book, it would be the kind of story she’d finish in a sitting. Instead, Feyre has to keep reminding herself that she’s supposed to read the lines marked NORA.

Like Feyre, this is the first time that the majority of the room has seen the script. Helion and his writers have seen it before, of course, and Feyre guesses that Tamlin read it before accepting the job, as well. Directors don’t usually sign up without seeing the material first.

> **NORA grins slyly.**

> I’m Nora.

> **THEO, smiling back.**

> It’s nice to meet you, _Nora_.

It appears that Rhysand had access to the script, too, if the way he already knows his lines is any indication. Feyre resists a scowl, finding it to be a very unfair disadvantage when it comes to their scenes together. Rhysand needs nothing more than a quick glance at the paper to trigger his memory; Feyre, on the other hand, finds herself tripping over her line delivery, feeling nervous and off-balance.

Still, her scene partner is the picture of professionalism, and Feyre struggles to align yet another version of Rhysand Knight with all of his other faces. The professional actor. The cruel, indifferent man. The horrendous flirt. The “bad boy” depicted in the papers. Who is Rhysand Knight exactly?

Either way, Feyre finds his patience help, and she quickly grows more comfortable as the reading progresses. Like old friends reuniting, the chemistry of the two actors returns, and the magic begins.

> **NORA, raises a glass.**

> To shitty relationships and blowing them up.

> **She giggles. THEO grins, taps his glass to hers.**

> I’ll drink to that.

Feyre pretends not to notice that Tarquin’s eyebrows disappear into his white-blond hair or how the rest of the room sits on the edges of their seat, drawn in by their chemistry. A glance at Tamlin reveals his stern, focused frown as he takes notes; Helion sits beside him, beaming at them. The showrunner practically vibrates with excitement.

“Do you want to get out of here?” Rhysand— _Theo_ —purrs across the table. A few of the people in the room crack wide childish grins; they’re nothing more than children talking about who kissed who on the playground.

Rhysand Knight sends her a sensual smile. It’s the kind of smile that Feyre suspects has gotten him both out of a lot of serious trouble and a lot of people naked—in no particular order. Feyre meets his gaze; she knows that Rhysand is just trying to provoke her, hoping that he can get her to turn crimson again, but she’s not Feyre right now. She’s Nora, and Nora doesn’t blush when beautiful people invite her home.

Feyre meets his gaze with a cool smile. Violet eyes ignite with pure delight.

“I’d love to.”

##  **NESTA ARCHERON LANDS ANOTHER ROLE ALONG THE RAINBOW.**

“Wait! Feyre Darling!” Feyre scowls horribly at the sound of Rhysand Knight’s voice. She really thought she was getting out of there without anyone stopping her. Feyre has a million things waiting for her back at home; she really needs to get out of here if she wants to be in Adriata on time.

“Yeah?” Her irritation shows in her voice. It’s infuriating; Feyre doesn’t know why or how Rhysand has gotten under her skin, but she doesn’t like it.

The man’s grin doesn’t falter. Feyre could probably tell him that she hated him, and Rhysand would just keep smiling. Maybe she does, she thinks. Maybe Feyre hates him. That would explain a lot.

“I was curious,” he begins casually, “if you’d like to grab a bite to eat with me.”

“Oh.” Feyre is surprised by his invitation. Elain’s warning echoes in her mind to be careful with him. Alis’s sly remarks, too. “Why?”

Rhysand laughs at her. “Because. We’re castmates.” A twinkle in his eyes promises Feyre that she won’t like the next line. “And I figure I should at least buy you a meal before you show me your boobs.”

“Cute,” Feyre says flatly, though she can feel the heat flooding her cheeks and turning them rosy. Yes, she definitely hates the bastard. “Does that line work with all of your… _castmates_?”

His expression lights up at the challenge. “Typically, yes. Though it helps that the boob-showing is in the script.”

“What?” Feyre asks, confused by his train of thought.

“The script, darling.” He nods towards the papers in her hands. “You should give it another read. We skipped the good bits during the read-through. Helion says he’s still ‘thinking it out.’ Whatever that means.”

Feyre blinks at him as Rhysand shoulders his bag and begins to leave, but he flashes her another coy smile over his shoulder. “Let me know if you change your mind. I’m on a flight to Adriata tomorrow night.”

Rhysand disappears as Feyre flips open the script, looking for whatever he was referring to. Her eyes go wide as she reaches the end of the script. Helion cut them all off before they got to the last few pages, shrugged it off as something unimportant. But it was actually quite important to Feyre.

“Alis!” She curses her friend’s name. “What did you _do?_ ”

##  **NESTA ARCHERON NOMINATED FOR BEST LEADING ACTRESS.**


End file.
